


just off the key of reason

by Arkham



Series: Pimms Week 2019 [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Canon, teenage boys being Bad at Emotions™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 21:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkham/pseuds/Arkham
Summary: Practice had officially ended a while ago, but Kent is still on the ice practicing trick shots against an empty net. Across the rink, Jack is running some passing drills with a couple of the younger guys—the really eager ones who saw the “C” on the front of Jack’s jersey and the name on the back, and looked at him like he was some kind of god.The clink of the post as Kent nails the bar down is music to his ears.///[Pimms Week 2019› "Spite" ]





	just off the key of reason

**Author's Note:**

> Did I miss day 1? Yes. Is this super short? Also yes. Figured I'd use it as a little pre-draft character study!

**** Practice had officially ended a while ago, but Kent is still on the ice practicing trick shots against an empty net. Across the rink, Jack is running some passing drills with a couple of the younger guys—the really eager ones who saw the “C” on the front of Jack’s jersey and the name on the back, and looked at him like he was some kind of god.

The clink of the post as Kent nails the bar down is music to his ears.

He gets a few more shots in before someone taps at his shoulder. It’s Jack, peering down at him with that little frown and the wrinkle between his brows that Kent _knows_ means nothing good.

“What are you doing?” Jack says, voice clipped.

Kent frowns. “Accuracy practice?” he tries. 

Jack doesn’t look impressed.  "Why weren’t you helping me run the drills?” he asks.

“Uhh, practice was over, dude. Why were you even running drills in the first place?” Kent counters.

Jack’s eyes narrow. “Bates wanted to practice some stick handling, so Williams and Rodriguez stuck around too.” He pauses and Kent _knows_ this is gonna be good. “It’s not a good look when your alternate captain is goofing off while you’re trying to teach some core skills to the new guys.”

Anger flashes up, red and hot. It’s an argument they’ve had before and Kent is sick of it. “Oh, so it’s all about appearances, eh?”

“Of course it is,” Jack snaps. Kent watches as Jack’s jaw clenches and unclenches, and he feels a sick sort of pride that he’s managed to rile Jack up with just a few words. They had always been so good at getting under each other’s skin.

“Of course it is,” Jack repeats, after taking a steadying breath. “We’re the leaders of this team. _You’re_ a leader on this team. You should act like it.”

“Oh, fuck off. It’s not like I had the “A” handed to me. We all know you’re the future of hockey or what the fuck ever, but some of us have to earn our letters.”

Jack goes impossibly still and there's a sharp twinge in Kent's chest—he knows he fucked up.

“Jack, I—”

“No, you know what?” Jack interjects. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe people see the name on my jersey and think a certain thing about me. But do you know what they’ll _definitely_ see? They’ll see a player that worked his ass off to get to where he is, because maybe a name got me in the door but a name doesn’t lead the league in points. A name doesn’t have the plus-minus, or the shots on goal, or the time on ice. I do. Not my dad. Me.”

Jack takes a deep breath and Kent can barely hear it shake.

“I earned my letter, Kent, but you? What have you done other than ride on my coattails?”

Kent explodes. Ride on Jack’s coattails? Is he _serious_? Kent snarls, shoving forward into Jack’s space. “Where do you get off telling me—”

“_Boys._” Bluesy’s voice echoes through the rink and Kent slinks back from Jack like he’s been scalded, retort fizzling on his breath. He glances towards Bluesy, who is still in the bottom half of his goalie pads, before ducking his head.

“Coach wants to see you. He’s in his office.” Bluesy pauses. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. His voice is back to that unaffected neutral, but the color is still high on his cheeks. “Everything’s fine.”

There are so many more things Kent has to say, but Jack skates towards the bench without even glancing at him and all he can do is follow, eyes fixed down so Bluesy can’t see the fury written across his face.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr](https://wastingstarlight.tumblr.com)


End file.
